The Devil in the Dark
by Luvvycat
Summary: Jack decides to put a popular theory to the test. Little does Elizabeth know what is waiting for her, in the dark... Just a little Sparrabeth Valentine's Day smut, part of my "Rum and Persuasion" story cycle. Rated "M" for a very good reason! ;-D
1. Chapter 1

**The Devil in the Dark  
**by Luvvycat

_**

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Author's Note: **This is a story written for the High Seas J/E Erotica Challenge on LiveJournal, posted in honour of Valentine's Day. As the "erotica" tag implies, it is VERY "M" rated, so please take this into consideration before deciding to read! I will not be held responsible for any melted eyeballs, heart palpitations, or extreme cases of the vapours that result from the reading of this fic! ;-)_

_This two-parter takes place in my "Rum and Persuasion" story continuity, and references are made that are specific to events that occurred in the previous stories._

_Many thanks to my beta-reader extraordinaire, The Charming and Delightful GeekMama. She truly is the Midas among beta-readers: every fic she touches is improved and enriched! :-)_

_Let the Valentine's Day smut begin ..._

_Ta, and Enjoy!_

_-- Cat_

* * *

"Come below as soon as you can," Jack had told her, kissing her fingertips lightly before leaving her at the helm of the _Empress_, adding, in a silky tone laden with sensual promise, "I'll be waiting for you …"

He had been full of praise for her today, pleased with the progress she was making toward learning the skills necessary to captain a ship like the _Empress_, and she had basked in his praise, though Elizabeth tended to attribute any advancement on her part more to Jack's considerable skill and surprisingly infinite patience as a teacher than to any natural aptitude she possessed. But he had shown enough confidence in her to leave her solo at the helm for the first time since he had come aboard, and she had to admit that she was beginning to enjoy the sense of power it gave her to be able to be in control of Sao Feng's … no, _her_ … ship.

She had thought her vast reading on the subject of pirates and seafaring would stand her in good stead when it came to sailing and navigation, and that was true, to a certain extent. Indeed, she knew more about the different types of ships and the names and functions of their parts than the typical landlubber, and she had picked up a bit of practical nautical experience during her brief, incognito tenure as a crewman on the (ultimately doomed) _Edinburgh Trader_. And, prior to that, she had helped to defend the (also doomed) _Interceptor_, putting to use tactical knowledge she had gleaned from books as well as the tales of sailors and navy men, to which she had listened, raptly, as a child.

(She paused at the sobering thought that, not only had the various men in her life met tragic ends—her father, James Norrington, Sao Feng, Hector Barbossa, Jack, Will … albeit, in the case of the latter three, less permanently than the others … but so had the ships on which she had travelled …

The _Dauntless_, destroyed in a hurricane off Tripoli …

The _Interceptor_, sunk by Barbossa and the _Black Pearl_ …

The _Edinburgh Trader_, and the venerable _Black Pearl_ herself, both fallen victim to the Kraken …

It was almost enough to give credence to Gibbs' superstitious belief about women plus ships equalling bad luck!)

However, working with Jack, she soon discovered how inadequate book-knowledge was as compared to the actual _doing_, and merely reading about sailing was indeed a poor substitute for learning the ropes through personal, hands-on instruction by a master of his craft.

She found that the same held true as far as sexual congress was concerned. Luckily, Jack was proving to be quite knowledgeable in matters both naughty _and_ nautical, and both her day-time lessons at the helm, and Jack's more intimate night-time tutoring in the cabin they shared below, were turning out to be extraordinarily educational, and quite mind-broadening.

She stayed at the helm until the sun slipped below the horizon, even forgoing supper (though, in truth, she felt little like eating these days, due to a nagging and persistent queasiness in her stomach that seemed reluctant to go away) and, with final orders for her first mate, she turned the _Empress _over to Tai Huang, and headed for the door on the quarterdeck that led to the cabin below.

Two small brass lanterns burned at the top of the arched staircase, which curved down, gradually disappearing into a sea of shadow. Not a glimmer of light issued from the Great Cabin.

"Jack?" she called out in a tentative voice.

His lazy drawl drifted up from the inky blackness. "Yes, luv?"

"Jack, why are all the lights out?"

The shadows emitted a mischievous chortle. "Why don't you come down and find out?" the voice purred.

Elizabeth spared a glance over her shoulder at the lanterns flanking the door through which she'd just passed—both of which, unfortunately, were securely bolted to the wall, and unavailable for her use. She briefly considered going back out on deck to fetch a lamp, but Jack was waiting, and apparently had a reason for dousing the lights (daft though it might be, knowing Jack). With a sigh, she slowly started to descend, leaving the island of dim lamplight at the top of the stairs and was eventually swallowed by the dark.

She stumbled a bit as she reached bottom, anticipating more steps than there actually were, and thrust her splayed hands out in front of her, pawing the air like a blind man feeling his way in unfamiliar territory—which, in fact, this was. Though in possession of the _Empress _for more than a month now, she had not spent anywhere near enough time on her for her to be able to negotiate the ship and her private quarters in complete darkness without risk of mishap.

Her seeking hand eventually found the circular frame of the moon gate leading to the master cabin. Sparing one last, longing look upward to the distant lantern flames, which shone like a pair of golden cats' eyes in the dark, taunting her with a reminder of the light she was abandoning, she moved into the room, treading carefully, cautiously, as she strove to remember the layout, and keep from knocking into the furniture.

To her light-deprived eyes, the room was pitch-dark. All of the lanterns and candles had been extinguished. Her every muscle tensed. Though not exactly afraid of the dark, Elizabeth was not accustomed to being in places totally devoid of light. Even in her bedroom, as a child in London, and again in Port Royal, she had always left a candle or lamp burning on her bedside table. Absolute darkness disquieted her — it reminded her of death, and tombs, and a dim childhood memory of her mother, being sealed into her mahogany casket before the funeral ...

She took another tentative step into the room. "Jack … where are you?"

There was a stir of air, and a light but unmistakable scent of rum, carried on a puff of hot, moist breath, wafted around her as a voice sounded low in her ear, "Why, right here, luv."

She whirled, and automatically struck out, her hand impacting taut, warm, naked flesh in the dark, eliciting a muffled _"oof!" _from the shadows before a hand groped for and found her wrist, pulling her against that same warm, naked flesh …

"'Strewth, Lizzie, calm yourself … 'tis only me!"

She could feel her cheeks flush hotly, and she ground out through gritted teeth, "Damn it, Jack! What the bloody hell do you think you're doing!" She hated being caught unawares, and her voice held more than a _soupçon_ of anger—aimed mostly at herself, for letting him startle her so easily—as she squirmed against Jack's body.

"Just puttin' a theory to the test, luv, is all …" Though the blackness prevented her seeing his face, she swore that she could _hear _the smirk in his voice.

"What theory?" she responded, hotly. "Of how insanely foolish it is to accost a pirate captain who may, or may not, be armed with deadly weapons?" She laughed harshly. "You're damned lucky I'm not wearing my bloody sword, Jack, or your little 'test' might have resulted in you losing a couple of vital appendages and bleeding to death on the floor of my cabin!"

She wrenched her hand out of his grasp, and took a step back, but was arrested by the feel of strong hands lightly gripping her upper arms. "Hush, luv," Jack's voice came again, like dark red wine in the stygian gloom—a rich vintage flavoured with a tart undertaste of amusement. "No harm done, eh? All me parts, still intact …" He chuckled, deep and low in his throat, "As you'll surely be findin' out, very soon, if things go accordin' to plan."

"Jack … I can't see a bloody thing! Why don't we just light _one_ of the lanterns …"

The press of a callused finger against her lips silenced her. "Sshhh!" The finger traced a path downward, dragging lightly across her lower lip, rounding the pert promontory of her chin, then curving under it to wend its way down the graceful arch of her throat, until his peripatetic digit encountered the collar of her Asian tunic. She felt the brush of beard against her face as his cheek pressed close to hers, and he growled tauntingly in her ear, "What's th' matter, darlin' … _'fraid of the dark_?"

She rolled her eyes, the effect of which was completely lost on him in the absence of light. "Don't be absurd!" she snapped, feeling her face flush at his gibe, as well as in reaction to his touch. She vaguely wondered if he could feel the sudden warm rush of it against his skin. "More like, afraid of stumbling over something and breaking my bloody neck …"

"Just indulge me, luv …" he cajoled, his breath hot in her ear.

"Don't I always?" she said, ruefully. Then her face flushed even more hotly as she recalled the few things she _had _refused to do for him, in the privacy of their cabin and bed. "Well … _nearly_ always," she qualified.

"Besides …" he argued, his voice low and persuasive, "… the introduction of light would absolutely scuttle my little experiment …"

"What exactly are you—?" she began, but then his mouth was on hers, swallowing her words along with her breath, and her resistance melted away under the heat of that kiss, as it always did … as he—the silver-tongued, golden-toothed, jet-eyed devil—_knew_ it would.

She moaned as she fell into the kiss, losing herself in the liquid fire of Jack's mouth, the wicked wet flame of that agile argentine tongue setting her alight as her own passion caught and burned fiercely within her. As her desire rose, she realised that she didn't really want to waste time on anger and arguments—not when there were much more enjoyable ways they could be grappling with one another.

Each of her night-time encounters with Jack was a discovery, a revelation, a lesson about herself, and the woman she was, and always had been, behind the genteel, aristocratic veneer. Under Jack's gentle, loving, often playful, occasionally fierce tutelage, she was learning things about her body, and about his own, that a proper lady would never have dared to contemplate: how the brush of a calloused finger against her wrist set the pulse beneath the skin fluttering and racing; how the flick of a tongue in just the right place made her breath hitch and her skin flush with fever; how the pressure of a thumb at a critical moment could send her over the precipice, catapult her into a world of throbbing, shuddering rapture. And she was learning, too, how her touch could affect him, in similar ways.

They had been lovers for nigh on a month now—from the time she surrendered her virginity to him, the eve before the battle with Beckett, to the present—and it still embarrassed her how eagerly she looked forward to these nights with Jack, and what she became when she was with him: a woman, wild with want, driven by need, without a thought for propriety, decency, or self-restraint when it came to indulging her own desires.

She couldn't help anticipating with delight every new experience he brought to their bed … every new sensation he wrought with his rogue's hands and libertine's body … every sweet sinful secret that was revealed in the shedding of their clothes, and her own inhibitions. Jack's nimble fingers had deftly, deliciously loosened the knots of her old, maidenly reserve, sweeping away the flimsy shreds of her tattered modesty like wispy clouds blown before an irresistible rum-scented breeze. She found the exciting new horizons of pleasure that Jack opened up for her to be more than adequate recompense for those things the well-bred lady had left behind.

His dextrous hands were now making short work of the fastenings of her tunic, his lips moving from her mouth to the slender column of her throat. "And … just what is this theory you're set on testing?" she said weakly as his fingers reverently stroked each newly-uncovered patch of skin.

"Well, luv … some say that, when a body is deprived of one of its senses, the remaining ones compensate for the lack by becoming much more … _heightened _…" His hand slipped into the open front of her tunic ...

She couldn't suppress a small intake of breath at the feel of his finger teasingly tracing the low neckline of her thin silk undertunic, drawing a line of fire across the upper rise of her breasts, and when she spoke her voice was huskier than it had been before. "So … what you're saying is, by rendering us, for all intents and purposes, blind … we can expect to be more … _intensely _affected … by the other senses?"

"Aye," he replied, "_All_ the other senses …" Then went on to demonstrate …

"Touch …" His hand splayed now against her upper chest, his warmth seeping into her flesh, adding to the hot flush already creeping up her throat. She felt the brush of his tangled hair against her chin just before his lips found the small notch at the base of her throat, his dangling chin-braids nestling in her scant cleavage.

"Taste …" The tip of his tongue dipped into the indentation, a warm slickness against her skin as he proceeded to drag it along the elegant arch of her left collarbone. Elizabeth closed her eyes in reflex—despite the fact that the total darkness rendered the reaction superfluous—and shivered at the sensations it evoked.

"Smell …" he buried his nose in her hair, inhaled deeply, and whispered, so softly that his voice was barely a shiver of the air next to her left ear, "Sound …"

Jack's hands settled on either side of her neck, caressing, before moving down, pushing the material off her shoulders, and the outer tunic fell to the floor with a soft silky sigh.

Hands still at her shoulders, Jack turned her around, so that his bare chest was now pressed to her back. She could feel the warmth of him radiating through the thin fabric of her undertunic. His hands sought and found her trouser-clad thighs, drifting up them and under the hem of the tunic, his palms resting briefly on the lean flatness of her stomach (oh, how they blazed with heat as they pressed against her!), before his fingertips danced lightly about her narrow waist as they sought the ties of her trousers. Soon, the cloth was sliding down her legs with a slithery susurration of sound, pooling around her booted ankles.

She felt Jack's hands skimming down her limbs, following in the wake of the material, and the press of his head into the small of her back, just above the gentle swell of her _derriere_, as he reached down and, by touch, found and helped her off with one boot, then the other, and she was able to step out of the puddled trousers. His hands lingered at her shapely ankles as he pressed a kiss to the back of each knee, his tongue swiping the tender skin, sending an unexpected shiver up her spine.

Then he was moving upwards again, pushing the tail of her undertunic up, cupping her buttocks in both his palms. She flinched at the sting of cold metal—his rings—upon the left swell, a contrast to the smooth well-worn leather of his palm-guard upon the right. (_Good Lord_, she thought dimly, _does he _never_ take that thing off?_) She let out a little gasp as she felt the bristly ridge of his close-cropped beard scrape against the silken skin of her backside, back and forth, back and forth, scouring it, enflaming it before salving the friction-burn with a humid, open-mouthed kiss and the soothing balm of his hot, wet tongue.

"Sweet," he breathed against the luscious curve of her bottom, and she shivered again at the feel of his scorching breath against her skin. "Sweet, and warm, like fresh-baked bread …"

She inhaled, about to make some sort of biting remark at that simile, then let it out in an explosive yelp, jumping as she felt his teeth sink into the succulent flesh where his lips had just been, nipping gently, playfully. His mouth stretched into a smile against her skin.

"Oh, luv," he laughed, wicked and dark and low in his throat, "What I wouldn't give right now for a nice, big pot of butter …" He drew a saliva-moistened finger down the cleft of her arse …

She tensed as his probing finger threatened to become a little too invasive for her comfort. "Jack …!" her voice held a note of mild panic.

Then he was rising again, sliding up her back as his sweat-dewed flesh clung to the thin undertunic, dragging it up with him, and when he wrapped his arms around her and pressed against her again, she could feel him, hard and hot and velvety, nestled cosily against the crease of her bottom.

"Oh, God …" she breathed as something tight and thrilling coiled deep and low inside her, realising for the first time that Jack was completely naked. And, save for the thin silk garment now bunched and gathered practically to her waist, so was she …

She barely had time to come to grips with this thought, when his hands began moving over her, slowly and deliberately, with intent to arouse, and then she found herself incapable of thought at all. His fingernails coaxed soft, sibilant whispers from the fabric as they lazily sketched intricate designs upon her silk-draped stomach and strummed across the washboard ridges of her ribs, transferring a trail of fire to her naked skin through the tunic … and a corresponding fire gathering in her belly.

She let herself fall back against Jack as his hands travelled upward, delineating patterns on the rise of her bosom, tracing concentric, ever-narrowing circles around the tips of both breasts. He teased, the circles tightening, then widening again just when they would have reached the epicentre, and she moaned in frustration.

When, at last, he allowed his nails to flick across her hardened peaks, she cried out and threw her head back against his shoulder as an intense frisson of luscious liquid heat suddenly flared between her thighs, throbbed and flared some more with each tantalising swipe of his nails across her pebbled flesh. The thin shield of silk between his fingers and her body transformed the scraping of his grubby nails into meandering paths of pleasure, a wonderful friction that had her pulse leaping and her breath coming harder, made her arch her back and thrust her chest out to offer those girlish breasts up to his agonisingly erotic, thoroughly delicious ministrations.

The rush of intense desire made her knees go weak, and she hooked one arm back and around Jack's neck to keep from falling as his clever hands continued to play a rhapsody of wanton delight upon her eagerly receptive flesh …

* * * * *

Jack's hands slid up the front of her body, the silk beneath his fingers cool and slick as oil, a soft and gossamer-thin barrier between her skin and his. He shuddered with sensual pleasure as he drew his nails across its sleek surface, twitching almost imperceptibly where he lay sweetly cradled against the dimpled nest of her arse.

She writhed so beguilingly under his hands, each swipe of his roving fingers evoking a response in her … a sigh, a shiver, a reflexive tightening of the muscles beneath her skin, a quite distracting undulation of her bottom against his hard flesh. The sound of her breath in the dark was sweet music to his ears, like the soughing of the wind through his _Pearl_'s shrouds. Its cadence altered from movement to movement …sped, hitched, trembled on a moan as his fingers continued their gentle—and studiously, determinedly patient, given his own enflamed state—motion across her.

He felt the cool silk warm under his palms as they cupped her breasts through the flimsy tunic, and then his cartographer's hands were moving over her again, drawing roundels and flourishes and curlicues upon the map of her chest, elaborate compass roses taking shape under his long, elegant fingers, before they sailed on to circumnavigate the twin islets of her breasts. Her bosom heaved more pronouncedly as his circles grew smaller and smaller, closing in on the centre of the target, the pebble-hard "x" that marked the site of her treasure. And then – _naughty Jack!_ – he changed course, moved away again, his fingers deliberately avoiding reaching their tender mark.

Again he closed in, and backed off … and again, until, hearing her moan of frustration, he took pity on her, and let his nails brush across the stiffened, silk-clad tips …

She gave a cry, and arched against him, her legs trembling (sending her arse, deliciously, all a-quiver against him). Her head fell back onto his shoulder, even as his own head dropped to the gentle curve where swan-like neck met soft feminine shoulder, seeking out her pulse, feeling it thrum rapidly under his lips in time with the strong heart beating under his meandering fingers. He fancied he could almost feel, almost hear, almost _taste_ the very blood rushing through her veins, throbbing in time with that blood-engorged part of him that seemed to pulse to the exact same rhythm. Inhaling deeply, he swore he could smell the earthy, musky tang of her arousal, like a subtle perfume on the air.

His hand reluctantly left her bosom, and charted a new course southward, where the convergence of her satiny thighs marked yet another territory to be explored. He dipped a gently probing finger into her channel, testing the waters, and found it drenched with her moisture …

"Oh, darlin'!" he laughed a bit shakily, his voice husky with desire. "You're well beyond ready, aren't you?" Her only answer was a moan against his neck. "Don't fret, luv … Jack knows just how to take care of you …"

He bent and, bringing one arm behind her knees, lifted her, sweeping her limp form up in his arms, and turned in what he hoped, according to his recollection, was the direction of the bed …

But, in the absence of light, and without the glimmer of the stars up above to guide him in his navigation, he proved to be just as confused and lost as she had been earlier. He stumbled around blindly in the dark, swore in pain as he barked his shin against a rather substantial hulk of furniture.

Elizabeth laughed breathlessly, tauntingly, in his ear, even as her arms tightened around his neck, "Now, whose brilliant idea was it to do this in total darkness?" He felt her fingers lace into his hair. "Are you certain, now, that you don't want to light a lantern?"

In the end, he might have sworn that the bed, taking pity on them, found _them _and threw itself in their path, for stumbling back in the direction from whence, he was sure, they had already come, he suddenly found his knees impacting something painfully solid, and felt himself falling over an object considerably larger than a chair or table. Elizabeth let out a little shriek as they tumbled together—making it _her _turn to reprise Jack's earlier _"oof!"_ as he fell on top of her—onto something that billowed around the two of them like a soft downy cloud …

They had, indeed, located the bed!

Elizabeth gasped in a lungful of air, then erupted into peals of helpless laughter, her body quaking with mirth beneath him, until Jack, desperate to recapture the concupiscent mood, pressed her into the feather mattress with his body, and silenced her with a long, deep kiss …

_**

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Author's Note: **The action gets even smuttier in Part 2. Read on, if you dare ..._


	2. Chapter 2

**The Devil in the Dark  
**by Luvvycat

**

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_Author's Note: _**_Beware! More smut ahead! Discretion advised! You have been warned! :-)_

* * *

As Jack's mouth closed over hers, stealing the last of the laughter from her lips, and the very breath from her body, Elizabeth lay back, snaked her arms around his neck, and opened her mouth wide to him, welcoming him in. He tasted of rum and gold, freedom and passion, and she wanted to drink that in … drink _him _in … get herself drunk on Jack Sparrow and everything he was.

She could never get enough of him. He was her opium, her obsession, her addiction. The more he gave her, the more she wanted; the more she took from him, the more she had to have. One kiss, one touch, one penetrating encounter when their two bodies melded delightfully into one, one sparkling moment of exquisite, soul-shattering bliss, was not sufficient to quench her need…

Rendered effectively blind by the darkness, unable to see and anticipate Jack's moves, each contact came as a surprise, and the unexpectedness of invisible hands alighting upon her, moving over her, touching her in intimate places, made it that much more exciting. Like lying with a ghost, or a demon lover.

There were other differences as well. Without his dark beauty to dazzle her eyes, she was free to concentrate on other things that would ordinarily be overshadowed by the sheer physical brilliance of him, but nevertheless were part and parcel of this glorious man. She couldn't see his dark tangle of hair, nor the beads and trinkets and curios that usually caught the light in blinding flashes of sparking metal and gypsy-bright colour, but she could lose her fingers in the texture of it, caressing loose strands that had the feel of embroidery floss, thick coarse hanks that prickled through her gliding palm like a hempen rope, finer braids that reminded her of the plaited satin trim of a favourite gown, evoking a wistful memory of a former life now lost to her, mourned but not truly missed. Unable to immerse herself in the deep, black pools of his irresistible eyes, she instead was able to give herself over to the dark, pagan magic of his wicked touch as he delved under the silk, pushing it up, his fingers weaving heathen spells and erotic love charms upon her tender skin.

He shifted above her, raising himself without releasing her lips, and she felt his knees settle on either side of her hips, the hot, hard silk of him coming to a rest against her bared belly. With a throaty hum of pleasure, she reached a hand down to cup him, stroke him. She marvelled yet again at how he could be so hard, yet so soft at the same time: satin-sheathed steel, velvet-wrapped iron against her palm as it moved upon him in a manner she had come to learn quite well in recent weeks under Jack's instruction. A sound issued from him, something between a growl and a moan, and then she felt his hands at the deep "v" of her undertunic, felt them clench into fists, and then she heard the rasp of fabric rending, felt the cool air upon her suddenly exposed chest and stomach.

She broke away from the kiss with a gasp, releasing him to clutch at his upper arms. "Jack! What are you doing?"

He murmured against her lips, "'S okay, luv. I'll get you a new one. Promise. But I want … I _need _your skin against mine, beneath me hands, under me mouth. I swear, nothin' on earth feels … _tastes_ as good as your naked skin…"

* * * * *

If he was as strong drink to her, intoxicating her senses, then her body, to him, was like a bountiful feast, and he fell on her with the voracious frenzy of a starving man. His mouth alit upon her neck, sampling the sharp salty tang of sweat bedewing her flesh, lingering to savour, to suckle, to capture the tender skin between his teeth before moving down to lave the lush ripe berries of her nipples, taking them between his greedy lips, gently nibbling as she wriggled and moaned beneath him, her hands loosening their grip on his arms to roam upwards, sinuous fingers delving under his elflocks to fondle the back of his strong neck, encouraging him to take more, _do_ more. She uttered a small cry of protest as his titillating mouth left her tender buds to travel even lower, his lips whispering against her soft, taut skin, until his tongue found the dainty cup of her navel, dipping into it, his strong hands caressing her slim hips. He felt her writhe under his hands and mouth, flinch in a delightful way with a small breathy cry of surprise at each touch that alit upon her in the blinding darkness.

And then he was between the silken branching of her slender thighs, parting her downy petals, dipping in to lap hungrily at her slick, musk-scented honey, drinking it in like the rich nectar from a flower … coaxing her succulent, sensitive pea from its fleshy pod, drawing it into the warm, wet cauldron of his mouth, rolling it on his tongue like some delectable morsel …

Her trembling fingers twined into his hair, and she surged against his mouth, with desperate, mewling little sounds that fired his blood even more... nourished his craving for the rare delicacy of her savoury flesh and the sweet, heady taste of her satisfaction... fed the fiery arousal that was now pressed almost painfully tight against his own belly.

He banqueted sumptuously until, with an escalating series of breathy cries that crescendoed into a cathartic wail of voluptuous release, she tightened her fists almost painfully in his hair, her back bowing as she shuddered violently, her pulse throbbing rhythmically against his tongue …

* * * * *

The rough satin of his lips whispering against her as they roamed over her made her skin tingle with heat and sensation, the flickering flame of his wicked tongue set her body ablaze, the immolating fire of his ardour burning her, reshaping and reforming her, until, like a phoenix rising from the inferno, she was reborn into a creature she scarcely recognised: one made of want and wantonness, lust and licentiousness, desire and dissipation.

As his mouth alit on where she wanted him, most, and his tongue pressed into her, deeply, deliciously, then withdrew to flick again and again against that most sensitive part of her, she whimpered with helpless longing, twining her fingers into the anchoring ropes of his hair, hips rising from the bed to press insistently against his wondrously sensual invasion.

As Jack's mouth continued to work its arcane magic upon her super-sensitised flesh, she felt herself borne upon a tide of growing anticipation, like a boat adrift in an increasingly turbulent sea, drawn irresistibly, inexorably, toward the churning eye of a hurricane. As her heart pounded and her breathing escalated until her lungs practically burned with the effort, she pulled the anchoring ropes tight, and braced herself to welcome the storm, and that drowning release that would free her, in a burst of exquisite pleasure, from the sweet agony of those firm but tenderly insistent lips and hot, lashing tongue …

And then she was plunging into the heart of that maelstrom, crying out helplessly into its buffeting wind, eagerly surrendering to its shuddering, unrestrained fury, letting it pull her down into watery arms of ecstasy, break her into a thousand pieces of delight-edged flotsam …

Until, the storm at last spent, she drifted upon a calm sea of fulfilment …

* * * * *

Jack gathered her against him in the crook of one arm, her warm breath puffing across his right nipple, as the trembling aftershocks gradually subsided and he could feel her breathing return to something resembling its normal pace.

He was constantly amazed at her, at her capacity for pleasure, and her unique ability to engender the most tender feelings within his breast. Jack had never considered himself a sentimental man, or one even open to the possibility of love. The concept was, for him, an ephemeral one at best, one in which he had never truly believed. Though he had frequently harboured fondness, even affection, for some of the ladies whose services he had regularly engaged—ladies who were in the business of dispensing pleasure—for the first time in his life, with Elizabeth, he had experienced something more, something that went far beyond just the physical act of love, or the seeking of sexual gratification.

For the longest time, he had hesitated to label it as "love." To be sure, he had desired many women before; those easily wooed to his bed, and those whose social status or position one would normally consider out of the reach of a lowly pirate. These, he tended to pursue with dogged persistence, enjoying the challenge, the chase, the seduction. However, once the prize was won, the rewards reaped, the passion sated, he invariably lost interest. The thrill was in the pursuit, the satisfaction found in winning the game.

But Lizzie was something else entirely, something completely out of the scope of his vast experience, new and surprising, when he thought nothing about the female creature held the capacity to surprise him anymore. A challenge, to be sure. A glittering prize that caught his eye, that day on the docks of Port Royal, and, like any other object of value, to be coveted, pursued, pilfered …

_Plundered ..._

Somewhere along the way, it occurred to him that she was playing the same game with him—that she was perhaps pursuing him, as well. The sly sloe-eyed glances, the verbal repartee that was thinly-veiled flirting… all calculated to draw him to her, every bit as much as he was working to entice her into his web…

Though he had always been confident of being able to lure her into his bed (he _was_, after all, Captain Jack Sparrow!), he had never dared dream that he would end up winning her heart as well.

Initially, he had been slow, cautious in his instruction, knowing, for all that she was no longer a virgin (a condition which he, himself, had remedied, to their mutual satisfaction), in terms of her limited experience in erotic pursuits, she was still, virtually, a maiden. But, under his careful tutelage, her maidenly reserve had quickly given way to an insatiable curiosity, particularly where it concerned matters of the bedroom. He found singular delight in schooling her in the ways of the flesh, taking her slowly through the provocative arts of Venus and Cupid and, in guiding her on the various pathways to ecstasy, he found a new capacity in himself for giving pleasure, rather than taking what he could and giving nothing back.

With the impatience of youth, she was constantly surprising him, forging blithely ahead into territory he had, in deference to her relative inexperience, hesitated to take her, experimenting on her own, with (nearly always) quite satisfying results, for both of them. Any pleasurable attention he visited upon her body, she immediately had to try upon his own, to see if its effect could be duplicated on Jack. And, invariably, it could, and was ...

He suspected that, had he urged, or cajoled, or tried to trick her into doing such things, she would have balked, refused (as, indeed, she had done, from time to time, when confronted with some of Jack's suggestions). However, she seemed to exult in the act of discovery.

He was reminded of the first time she had put mouth to him, which she had come to do at her own inspiration, without his coercion, at a time he was engaged in performing a very similar act upon her own person. 'Twas the eve of the battle with Beckett's forces, the threat of war and death looming like a gathering storm on the dawn's horizon, fear somehow fuelling need, when they had first fully consummated their mutual desire for one another, at the cost of her maidenhead. He recalled the sweet surprise … the ineffable pleasure of it, to feel her tongue on him, tentatively exploring, her lips closing around him, then slowly sliding down as he was gradually engulfed in moist heat ... her technique inexpert, yet maddeningly erotic in its sheer innocence …

Even as he thought this, he felt her stir, start sliding down his body, fingers feeling the way as they traced a path down his torso, met, then encircled the root of him. He felt the damp tendrils of her hair brushing against, teasing the skin of his lower belly and upper thighs, just before he was enveloped in the hot, wet glory of her mouth.

With a groan, he lay back and let her work her magic upon his hard, heated flesh, his fingers reaching for her in the darkness, stroking her hair, burying themselves in the damp, silken tangle as he whispered soft, increasingly desperate words of encouragement.

He quickly found himself on the brink … _much _too quickly! He wanted the pleasure to last, wanted to feel himself buried to the hilt in her _other _font of welcoming wet heat …

* * * * *

As she took him into her mouth, lavishing her gratitude on the instrument that had, over the past weeks, been responsible for bestowing upon her the most exquisite bliss, she heard Jack groan, and had to suppress the urge to grin around her delectable mouthful.

It was indescribable, the sense of power she felt, knowing the mere touch of her lips to him, the brush of her tongue, the warmth of her mouth, could bring him to the same peak of ecstasy that his own mouth brought to her. She could understand, now, those men she had stumbled upon once, deep in the bowels of the _Edinburgh Trader_, pleasuring each other in the same manner in which she, now, was pleasuring Jack.

She thought of the first time Jack had gifted her with her first sweet taste of rapture … the night he had appeared, drunk and dirty, in her gardens at the Governor's mansion, under threat of capture by James' men. She had taken him under her wing, harbouring him in safety, even providing a bath to the semi-conscious pirate, until he could safely return to his beloved ship and rejoin his crew.

Once Jack had sobered up (to some extent), they had shared rum, and conversation, until, before she knew it, she had allowed herself to be persuaded to act on her attraction for the captain of the _Black Pearl_—an attraction, she was thrilled to discover, that was entirely mutual. Before the end of the night, they had ended up sharing rum-and-coconut-flavoured kisses, a deeply stimulating bath, touches that brought each other to bliss, and a bed, in which both had awakened naked …

Her reverie fragmented as strong arms encircled her waist, pulling her up, drawing her against a hard, firm body as Jack kissed her again, voraciously, her musty taste still piquant upon his lips, and any coherent thoughts she had harboured flew right out of her head as his mouth devoured, his hands explored, and moist skin slid against moist skin. After long, breathless moments he lowered her back to the bed, guiding her until he had her arranged on her hands and knees, and, after a bit of navigational groping, entered her from behind …

* * * * *

He hissed in pleasure as he sheathed himself within her, filling her in one smooth stroke. He stilled, held himself there, revelling in the sensation of his aching flesh cocooned by her wet heat that both scorched and soothed. His hands, though, unable to keep still, skimmed reverently over her hips, her waist, her back, her shoulders, and she arched into his touch, pressing back against him with a distressed little whine to take him even deeper.

Leaning over her, he let his hands glide down her arms, past her elbows, down toward her wrists. Slipping his hands beneath hers, he spread his fingers, waited until hers splayed between his, her palms pressed to the back of his hands, linking them together. The symbolism was not lost on him. From the very first moment he saw her, he knew somehow that their fates, their lives, their futures were joined somehow, intertwined as their hands currently were. He slowly let his weight down, his chest pressing against her back, his hips nestled snugly against her buttocks, until he had as much of his skin in contact with hers as possible …

He trembled with the sheer joy of it. _Heaven … simply heaven…_

Then he drew his hips back, and started to move within her …

* * * * *

She cried out as he filled her. _This _is what her body had been waiting for … this linking, this union, this _completion_. Like a key and a lock, or flint and steel … if kept separately, each was rendered useless without the other, their potential wasted … but once fitted, joined, the key turned, the lock sprung open … the flint and steel struck, releasing the spark … a world of possibilities opened up … a treasure of sensation accessed, an all-consuming flame created from naught but the desires of their heart, and a bit of friction …

That sparking friction was now firing her flesh, driving her forward, toward an unspeakably beautiful treasure that awaited her, that drew closer with every thrust of Jack's hips, every gliding motion of him inside her …

* * * * *

Jack suddenly sat back, pulling her with him, so that her knees were astride his thighs, her back pressed against his chest, he still buried deep within her. His hands roamed over the front of her body, her supple flesh filling his hands, the hard nubs of her nipples pressing into his palms. She moaned and purred in pleasure as he let his fingers wander, then set his lips, his teeth to the back of her neck as his hips rose and fell, rose and fell against her, and she began to rock with him, setting a rhythm to match his. One callused hand drifted down her stomach, skimmed her abdomen, brushed the damp nest of curls, and then penetrated it to reach that nexus at the top of her sex. She gave a little cry as his fingers slipped over her, flicking, stroking, even as his other hand continued to drift languidly across her breasts, teasing and lightly pinching her nipples, rolling them gently between his fingers and thumb.

Robbed of the sight of his lover's face, denied the visual cues of her expressions, he instead—much as he did at the helm of his _Pearl_—attuned himself to the rhythms and responses of her body, and of his own, the subtle cause and effect of his every motion on her own, the nuances of the sounds she made as he moved within her: the cadence of her breathing, now softly sighing like a warm zephyr breeze, then coming harder like the presage of a storm. Though he could not see the sheen of sweat on her sweet flesh that (he knew, from experience) would have glistened like diamonds in the lamplight, he could certainly feel it in the slickness of her body as it slid against and under his, taste it on her when he opened his mouth against the flushed, moist skin at the back of her neck, bent and sipped it thirstily from the shallow hollow above her collarbone.

Under the tender command of his hands and body, as gently as he had ever steered his beautiful _Pearl_, he guided her on her voyage to fulfilment, charting a course best designed to bring her pleasure, his navigator's mind calculating the optimal depth and speed and angle to take her safely and swiftly to her destination, determined to deliver her there first before completing his own journey.

Grunts and moans and sighs and hoarsely whispered imprecations provided an erotic counterpoint to the primal drumbeat rhythm of flesh meeting flesh, underscored by the slippery, moist sounds of their coupling.

Before long, he felt the rhythm of her breathing change to short, sharp gasps, and her body tensed under his hands, her back arching, hands scrabbling for purchase on his thighs. Her fingers dug into his flesh as she cried out his name on a great, sobbing breath …

When she convulsed around him, he felt it in every fibre of his being, radiating from where they were joined, then trembling through his own corpus like ripples in a pool. The need to spill consumed him but he waited until the tremors of her body stilled, then gently lifted her up, and pulled out of her.

His fingers interlaced with hers, meshing, dancing, caressing, making sweet love to her hand as his free arm wrapped around her, pulling her close. "Oh, Lizzie … give me your mouth, luv …" he pleaded, his voice a rough whisper.

She tilted her face up, turned her head, and the warm gusts of her still-quickened breath guided his mouth to hers, even as his hand steered hers between their bodies, behind her back, to close around his hardness, still slick with the musky nectar of her own body. He fed deliciously at her mouth as, together, fingers still intertwined, they stroked in tandem, urging him toward ecstasy …

* * * * *

As their clasped hands moved ever more quickly, the mouth upon hers grew frantic, and then suddenly stilled on a sharp gasp as Jack surged against her and froze, his body spasming. He cried out her name in a husky moan that was a swirling vortex of both agony and ecstasy, and almost immediately she felt a wet warmth against the small of her back, his breath trembling against her mouth as he pulsed and spent in their joined hands.

When he finished, and his body went slack against hers, he lowered his mouth that whisper-thin distance, kissing her softly, tenderly, tongue lightly stroking her lips before dipping into her mouth to gently brush against hers …

He collapsed to the bed, drawing her with him, until they lay side-by-side, temporarily sated, slowly regaining their breath.

When he was able to speak again, he gave a short laugh, and said, "Well, I reckon that experiment was a resounding success!"

She responded with a low, sinful laugh of her own, her body still thrumming from the force of her completion. She smiled a slow, predatory smile in the dark as inspiration struck...

"Well," she turned into him, her lips finding the corner of his mouth as her hand started wandering over his naked chest, "If you really want to adhere strictly to the scientific method, one should have a proper basis for comparing results …" Her hand drifted down his body, "To wit, the experiment should be repeated … with the lamps lit …" Her hand found what she was seeking, and he gasped into her mouth as it captured his for a quick, but heated kiss. "Then once more, _sans_ light, to see if the initial results can be duplicated …"

She felt his mouth curve against hers in a wide smile, and she suspected, had she been able to see it, that it was a match to her own rapacious grin. "Well, luv … I'll just go find the flint, then, shall I …?"

A thought struck her as she felt him roll away from her, and she reached out, groping for his arm, holding it fast. "Jack …" she said, "It's just occurred to me … Why was it necessary to actually have all the lights doused? Couldn't the same effect have been accomplished using, for example, blindfolds?"

There was a low chuckle from the darkness, and she felt him shift closer, his hand searching, finding the back of her neck, fingers stroking the soft skin at her nape, thrillingly. "But, darlin' …" the hand tightened and he drew her close for a passionate kiss, then growled, deep and wicked against her lips, "I was savin' the blindfolds—and a few other essential accessories—for our _next '_lesson'…"


End file.
